Read time: 7 min.

You might not realize it if you’ve never spent much time here, but my hometown of Muncie is home to an impressive collection of public art. The city boasts works by the likes of Daniel Chester French, Cyrus Dallin, and E.M. Viquesney, but some of our most beloved pieces owe their existence to Richard Kishel. Many of his creations weren’t just meant to be admired- they were meant to be played upon! His concrete tortoises became famous far beyond Central Indiana, but my personal favorites were his rimp-romps. A few years ago, I had the chance to help save one. 

Born in Minnesota on November 3, 1923, Richard “Dick” Kishel was one of eleven children. His passion for art carried him across the Midwest as he studied at the Cranbrook Academy of Art, the University of Minnesota Duluth, and the University of Iowa before launching a career of his own¹. In 1953, Kishel’s journey brought him to Muncie, where he joined Ball State as an associate professor of art and taught at Burris Laboratory School, my alma mater. Over the years, he left a lasting imprint on both the university and the community by creating works that generations would climb on, play with, and remember long after childhood².

Six years after he arrived here, Kishel transformed the Burris playground with his own creations. In 1959, he designed and fabricated a whimsical collection of equipment that included those famous concrete turtles, toadstool-shaped hopping stones, and towering five-foot steel cactus trees. The real standouts were named by his students, who called them rimp-romps³.

Kishel’s rimp-romps were equal parts bird and dinosaur- odd, charming creatures painted in soft, muted colors. With rounded edges and smooth sides, the rimp-romps were designed for safety when recess got too wild⁴. Kishel’s rimp-romps didn’t just delight kids at Burris, though- they popped up all over the place! His company, Art Forms, crafted the quirky play structures for Heekin Park⁵, Mister Fifteen restaurants⁶, and other spots around town. You can still find a red one standing tall at Jack’s Park. It’s a rare survivor.

For years, another rimp-romp stood near a Kishel toadstool obscured by a few trees on a dead-end street near Muncie’s west side. I’d driven past it countless times, barely noticing it, until my curiosity was finally piqued. Unfortunately, the rimp-romp was in bad shape: it appeared as though trucks working on the intersection backed into the sculpture. I captured several photos of it in accidental repose as a plan formed in my mind.

In those days, the Delaware County Historical Society was piecing together a sculpture garden -a pocket park- of old date blocks and stones between its history center and the historic Moore–Youse–Maxon House. When I joined the board, I thought it’d be fitting to remember Dick Kishel’s work by placing the rimp-romp there along with an undamaged Kishel toadstool Unfortunately, it was too damaged to save. The rimp-romp stayed put. 

I understood the board’s reasoning, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the rimp-romp deserved a second life. Digging into official maps and the county assessor’s database, I realized that the sculpture sat on a city-owned easement. A fellow board member worked with the city of Muncie and put me in touch with someone who confirmed my findings. Armed with that information, a letter was sent explaining that the rimp-romp was a historic piece of public art worthy of preservation. After some consideration, the city agreed to deaccession the damaged sculpture to DCHS. The society, however, had no plans to keep it, so it was ultimately given to me.

I hoped to find a permanent home for Kishel’s old rimp-romp in a public park, where future generations could continue to enjoy it. Unfortunately, that proved easier said than done: the sculpture had suffered decades of weathering and damage. A large crack encircled its collar, and exposed pieces of rebar protruded from its concrete base. Those issues raised the same concern: liability. Just like the historical society, no public agency or organization could assume responsibility for a damaged sculpture that someone could potentially climb on and get hurt. I understood. If the rimp-romp was going to survive, it would need to find a home on private property.

Fortunately, I eventually connected with someone who appreciated the sculpture’s history and charm- and even remembered playing on one as a kid! The possible new owner was enthusiastic about preserving the old creature and was willing to give it a new home, so I gave the rimp-romp away. What had become a broken, discarded piece of playground art beside a busy intersection was suddenly on its way to another life as a lawn ornament. It wasn’t the public display I’d originally envisioned, but it was preservation. In the end, that was what mattered most.

I volunteered to help with the rimp-romp’s final journey. Together, a team lifted it from its longtime home at the bend, loaded it onto a trailer, and hauled it to its secure new plot. Eventually, an engine hoist carefully raised the hefty concrete creature into place as a new foundation was poured.

As layers of old paint were examined, the owner concluded that red had likely been its original color and decided to restore it accordingly. The transformation was amazing! Today, the rimp-romp stands again! It’s on private property, hidden from public view but preserved for future generations. I’m grateful it survived. Even better, I was invited back to take photos to document the process and see the restoration once completed.

Not every piece of history can be saved. In the grand scheme of things, a quirky concrete creature from a playground might seem insignificant, but that’s exactly why it deserved to be rescued. For generations of Muncie children, many of Dick Kishel’s creations weren’t museum pieces (although many were). Instead, they were part of everyday life! Rimp-romps, cacti, and tortoises were climbed upon, jumped from, and imagined into dinosaurs, dragons, and whatever else a kid’s mind could conjure. Instead of crumbling away, the rimp-romp survives as a reminder of a remarkable artist whose work brought joy to thousands.

Most folks who drive through East-Central Indiana are familiar with Kishel’s larger pieces, like the Paul Bunyan now standing outside Timbers Lounge in Muncie, Shirley’s Burger Man statue, Willie the Whale in Kokomo, and the ice cream man from Parks & Recreation. They may never know what a rimp-romp is, much less that several still exist. That’s okay, though, since the important thing is that it does. Sometimes preserving history isn’t about saving the grandest or best-known things. Instead, it’s about recognizing the value of something odd, overlooked, and beloved before it’s too late. In this case, one of Muncie’s last rimp-romps got a second chance, and I’m glad to have had a part in making that happen.

Sources Cited
1 Richard F. Kishel, 86 (2010, September 12). The Muncie Star Press. p. 6. 
2 (See footnote 1).|
3 Asst. Prof. Richard Kishel of Ball State Art Department Designs New Playground Equipment (1959, October 25). The Muncie Star. p. 18. 
4 (See footnote 3). 
5 Amusement Area OK’d at Prairie Creek Park (1965, June 15). The Muncie Star. Pp. 1-2. 
6 Kids Discover New Playground (1965, October 12). The Muncie Star. p. 7.